


Cool

by bunnyfication



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Depression, Gen, Psychological Trauma, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:52:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnyfication/pseuds/bunnyfication
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sweden goes camping with two gloomy teenagers in winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cool

**Author's Note:**

> **From:** [](http://stalkerbunny.livejournal.com/profile)[**stalkerbunny**](http://stalkerbunny.livejournal.com/)  
>  **To:** [](http://kainoliero.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://kainoliero.livejournal.com/)**kainoliero**  
>  **Rating:** G  
>  **Prompt:** Sweden, Åland and Iceland: Sweden ends up in a situation where he has two islands that  
>  are, figuratively speaking, both hanging from his sleeves for his  
> attention (cashed in on the bonus points too ;P)  
> Furthermore, as usual [](http://taiyou-to-tsuki.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://taiyou-to-tsuki.livejournal.com/)**taiyou_to_tsuki** helped me by giving encouragement and advice both when I was feeling hopeless with story and not. Am especially thankful for the help with Åland OC, who would have been woefully out of character in the first fic with him I’ve published without her help.  
>  One more thing that might be confusing. Headcanon origin of Åland: Finland and Sweden happened to meet one day after 1809. They were both drunk...and sometime later Finland woke up on a certain island, and lo and behold, Åland. To this day, neither has any idea on the actual process. So there. =3=
> 
> (written in 2010)

It’s snowing, large flakes that fall down like torn pieces of lace, and Sweden is not entirely sure where he is. It feels like he should, keeps seeing signs and doorways and _details_ that seem familiar, but the whole is never quite right. Or maybe it's just the snow covering everything so thickly, looking like no one has even tried to do anything about it. But then it must be early, the sky is still so dark...a cloud covered, uniform gray that keeps spilling more and more snow. Or maybe it's the evening, he isn't sure about the time either.

It's dead quiet, the piles of snow muffling all sound. He can't even hear himself breathing...and that's when Sweden stops, to listen. He listens, not with human ears, but to the ground below his feet, the ever whirring cogs of society. If Sweden concentrates on it, he can smell the fields in summer, growing food and leaking waste around them at the same time, the taste of fertilizer bitter and rich in the back of his throat. If he stops and listens, just on the edge of his hearing there is the clang and thump of machines in factories, churning out products on a line like an erratic heart. The forests, a breath of quiet...and then the people, ideas sparking from one mind to another like electrons in a brain. Even on a national holiday, or in the middle of the night, there is always something, if nothing else the quiet hum of human minds, talking or dreaming.

Now, there is nothing but silence.

*

Sweden woke up then, going from dream to full wakefulness in the blink of an eye. He stared at his roof for a brief moment, and then got up, still feeling unsettled by the quiet horror of the dream. A glance out of the window confirmed that there was only a light coating of snow on the ground outside. And though the sky was grey, it was the grey of early morning before sunrise (yes, the clock showed barely eight in the morning), and looked like it might become a clear day yet.

At that moment, he was startled by the distant ringing of the doorbell. Sweden gave another bewildered look at his clock, wondering if it had stopped. He was _sure_ Finland had said he wouldn't bring Åland before one in the afternoon...on Sunday. And it was Saturday now.

When he finally opened the door, dressed in an old dressing coat snatched hastily from his wardrobe, he found Iceland on his doorstep.

Maybe it was just the light, but he looked bleached, from his pale hair to the old sweatshirt he was wearing, knitted in shades of grey and fraying slightly around the neck. Even his skin had a faintly greyish tinge to it, except for the red around his eyes and nose, and he was still looking too thin.

Still, he looked a lot better than the last time Sweden had seen him.

"Hey," Iceland said, and picked up the small suitcase next to him.

So he was there for a visit, apparently. An unannounced one, but it wasn't like Sweden had ever implied he minded that from family.

"Step in," he said.

*

Iceland was being...quiet. Sweden had already explained to him how Finland would be bringing Åland on the following day so they could go on a trip to his cottage in the north, and he'd just nodded. Without saying how long he'd intended to stay, or anything. If the news had disappointed him, Sweden couldn't say. His expression had been as blank as Norway's usually was.

But where one could usually tell on the rare moments when Norway was genuinely upset over something (partially because he had no compunctions about saying it outright), Iceland just drew back into himself. He had that look now, gaze distant and face expressionless as he sipped the coffee Sweden had just made.

He determined quite quickly Iceland didn't require much entertainment, seeming content to trail after him as he did the few tasks he had for the day, most notably packing the car for the trip on the next day. Iceland didn't offer to help, and Sweden didn't ask. He still looked so tired, and in the evening when they sat on the sofa to watch TV, Iceland's breath sounded raspy and laboured. Sweden gave him a worried glance and went to warm a cup of blueberry soup.

Iceland took it, staring at the flickering screen of the television. The shadows under his eyes made him look older, or maybe it was the deep weariness in his expression. But then, Sweden thought, Iceland wasn’t exactly that much younger than the rest of them, in the way humans looked at age, in terms of how many years he’d existed. He’d just grown slowly, born to a distant, barren place as he was.

Sweden noticed Iceland was looking at him from the corner of his eyes, and turned away. He knew pity would not be appreciated.

And yet, that night he woke up to someone with cold feet climbed into the bed with him, and for a moment, still half asleep, he wasn’t sure who it was, but moved over to make space by instinct anyway.

“Yer room get cold?” he asked as Iceland curled in close, so close Sweden could feel his small shrug.

“Something like that…” Iceland mumbled, voice scratchy. Then after a moment’s silence: “Sweden?”

“Yes?”

“Do you ever envy people? You know, for…for only having to go through it once?”

Sweden didn’t ask what he meant. They all wondered sometimes, during times of yet another plague or war or economic collapse. Sometimes their people’s short lives seemed something to envy. Still, it was a dangerous thing to dwell on too much.

“It’ll pass,” Sweden said, uncertainly.

Iceland’s voice was bitter in the darkness.

“Yes, and then something will go wrong again, in a few years or decades or whatever. I’m just so...tired,” he finished lamely, blank despair brimming somewhere behind the mild tone.

It struck a sudden sharp dread in Sweden, reminding him of the dream from that morning. He wished he was someone else, someone better with words. What would Finland say? Or Denmark? Well, knowing them one would stammer and babble something inconsequential before he found his ground, and the other would blurt out something insensitive. So no help there.

So in the end he just put a tentative arm around Iceland, and when he didn't seem to mind, stroked his hair lightly until he fell asleep.

Sweden took some time to fall asleep himself though.

*

The following day as Finland’s car drove into the yard, Sweden was waiting for it, standing in the shade of his porch. Finland and Åland were arguing, so neither of them noticed him at first. Both got out of the car quickly, as if reluctant to spend one more second in the same space, and yet kept glowering at each other over the hood, Åland coolly resentful and Finland unhappy and irritated.

“Look, thanks, but I really didn’t _need_ you to drop me here,” Åland said, in a rather dismissive tone. Arrogant, even.

Finland was gritting his teeth, clearly trying to hold his fraying temper together.

“Had business this way so…” he mumbled.

Åland rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you _said_ , but I still could have taken the bus from the harbour…”

At that point he finally turned and saw Sweden, frown clearing up slightly.

“Hey!” Åland called out, hastening his steps towards the house.

Finland met Sweden’s eyes as well and shrugged, face still sour. _See, I tried_ he seemed to be saying.

“I have to go, but have a nice trip!” Finland said with a strained smile and a short wave.

“Yeah, thanks,” Åland answered coolly, while Sweden just nodded calmly.

Finland got back into the car, still pouting. Åland glanced at the way of the retreating car, huffing out an exarcerbated breath, his face still pensive, before he gave Sweden a little smile. Not exactly shy, but tentative, like he was unused to smiling.

It was funny, Sweden thought, that Finland sometimes complained (only when he was drunk, but still), that Åland looked too much like Sweden, and how (in his words) creepy it was. Then again, Sweden had to admit he could see the resemblance when Åland was frowning. When he was smiling, though…that was another thing.

But then, Sweden wondered if he ever smiled for Finland.

It was as he thought this that they got as far as the kitchen, where Iceland was washing the dishes from breakfast. Åland looked surprised at first, glancing from Iceland towards Sweden with a small, quizzical frown, as if asking what was going on. With good reason, Sweden supposed. It had become an unspoken rule of sorts that it was only ever the two of them on this yearly trip.

“Iceland. You’re here…should you be here? I mean, um, are you feeling better already? I hope you are...” Åland asked, flushing slightly as he stumbled over the words.

He rather looked up to Iceland, Sweden had noticed before. It probably stemmed from Iceland being a country _looking_ about the same age, but already independent. Iceland turned and offered Åland a small smile when he was spoken to, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, Åland…yes, I’m better now,” he said softly, and then turned his back on them, concentrating on the dishes.

Åland looked uncertain, probably reading the gesture for the evasion it was. He smiled a little anyway.

“Oh, that’s…great. I didn’t know you’d be here. Are you going travelling with us then?” Åland asked.

Iceland shrugged, still without turning around.

"Why not," he said.

*

And that was how there came to be an extra traveller with Sweden and Åland.

They left at dawn the next day. Åland looking sleepy but excited to go in his own quiet way, and Iceland like he might not have slept at all, if the shadows under his eyes were any indication. But he didn't complain, merely slumped in the backseat next to Åland.

For a long time, they all just sat there quietly, save for the hum of the car, while the sun rose higher in the sky. Occasionally someone would make a short remark about something, but there was no real conversation.

After a few hours of leaving, Iceland started to cough, a horrible rasping sound. It took him a while to be able to stop.

"Are you ok?" Åland asked, sounding rather shocked.

Iceland smiled grimly.

"Yeah, it's nothing. Just a bit of a cold," he said, before being wracked by coughs again.

Åland's eyes went wide suddenly.

"I-Iceland, you...!"

Iceland wiped a hand over his mouth quickly, but both of them had seen the small flecks of red on his lips anyway. He turned his head away, squinting angrily at the morning sun like it hurt his eyes.

"Said it's nothing!" Iceland snapped at him, or possibly the world in general, voice suddenly sharp and caustic.

Åland's mouth closed to a tight, unhappy line. He looked scared as he glanced at Sweden, imploring him to do something.

"Ya sure?" Sweden asked tentatively, giving Iceland a serious look through the mirror.

Iceland gave him a tight smile in return, and nodded, probably not daring to try to speak again.

Åland raised his eyebrows incredulously, his gaze going from Sweden to Iceland, who was now sitting with his knees drawn against his chest and his hand over his eyes. Probably had a headache too, Sweden supposed, and made a mental note to dig out some pain medicine at the next stop. Or maybe just fashion some excuse to stop at the next possible place and get them then, he though and gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter.

*

The mood in the car continued to be somewhat strained even after they'd stopped at a gas station, supposedly because Sweden needed to read the map, and really so he could get the medicine bag from under the front seat. Iceland seemed a bit better after that, and even ready to make some conversation. Apparently the boredom of a long journey was getting even to him.

"So, what did it feel like, becoming independent?" Åland asked at one point. Sweden hoped that wasn't a touchy subject to mention, with the way things were.

Iceland, though, just shrugged once again, before speaking in his usual calm tone.

"Not that different. Not like Denmark ever paid me much attention to begin with."

Åland nodded understandingly.

"Yeah, I know, Finland mostly just ignored me too...except when I finally got fed up with him and wanted move in with Sweden, then he suddenly wanted to keep me. If you ask me he was just being stingy."

"Oh," Iceland said faintly. "And how has he been since?"

Åland shrugged.

"No difference really. I mean, sure he's let me do what I want, but only because he _has_ to. And keeps complaining about it all the time too." Åland complained.

"Yes, that's tough," said Iceland, who still remembered what it was like to see two thirds of your population die of starvation and one more be stolen to be sold as slaves, while your far away ruler was too busy to do anything.

Åland looked sheepish suddenly, his gaze straying out to the moving landscape.

"Well, I suppose it could be worse. Could have been worse, even, what with Russia and everything," he said pensively.

*

In the late afternoon, after several hours of driving, they stopped at a gas station to refuel. It was a lonely, unattended structure. One side held a closed kiosk, the brightly coloured ice cream advertisement frosted over, and the windows dark. On the other side of the road was side was a snow covered field, with the dark saw edge of spruces behind it. Ahead, another field ended at a lakeshore, likewise covered with ice and snow.

Åland got out of the car, apparently to stretch his legs, running down the snow covered slope in a series of jumps like a hare. Then he stood there, gazing over the lake. By the time Sweden was done with the car, Åland hadn't yet returned, a darker, still figure against the pale landscape. Lonely, somehow.

Sweden frowned, and then made his own way down the slope, in slower, more measured steps.

The sun was setting already, the last rays peeking over the far away hills on the other side of the lake, staining the white landscape pinkish and throwing long, blue shadows wherever it hit an obstacle. Åland stood statue still on the shore, frowning, with a stubborn, inward turned expression. His bare hands were clenched into fists, and was biting his lower lip. Sweden thought he'd seen a similar expression on Finland before, sometimes.

He'd been being very patient with Iceland, naturally, but perhaps Åland did mind him being on the trip? It had always been the two of them after all, no Finland or Sealand or anyone else, just him and Åland. A rare chance to get to know each other, make up for all the time during Åland's childhood Sweden hadn't even known he existed.

But admitting that wouldn't...be something Åland would want to do, Sweden knew him that well at least. His lonely childhood had taught him to be mature and self-sufficient, or at least to make himself seem so.

He himself had certainly been a lonely child, Sweden reflected, and Finland, his lost other half, had learned the hard way that he couldn't always rely on others. But the difference was that he'd been _wanted_ , even when the expectations had been a heavy burden to bear, and Finland had trusted first before he'd learned better.

Åland had always been alone, unknown by one parent and ignored by the other.

It was a wonder he had turned out as balanced as he was, really.

At that moment he seemed to realize he wasn't alone, and started slightly, before giving Sweden a small sheepish smile.

"Uh, didn't notice you..." Åland mumbled.

Sweden considered asking what was wrong, but Åland wouldn't meet his gaze, instead going to explore the short piece of shoreline. In the summer, it might have been a nice little beach for swimmers, or for boats to dock to. Now one could barely see where the ice ended and ground began.

Åland surveyed a wooden structure of some sort, leading out to the ice. He kicked some snow off it.

"It's a pier," he remarked, half to himself.

Sweden agreed with a hum. The long, hinged pier had been pushed against the shore by the ice, so that it had folded up like an accordion, parts caught in the ice and others folding up towards the sky.

Meanwhile Åland, in a rare moment of youthful spirit, tried to climb over the high triangle of folded pier. Finally he managed to scramble up and teetered for a moment at the top with a frown of concentration, before sliding down the other side. He laughed softly, the sunset and excitement staining his cheeks red.

He looked even younger than his mere two hundred years at that moment, Sweden thought. But then, just like how they looked, behavior wasn't a very good indication of age with their kind. They couldn't choose how they looked, whereas behavior...well, it was easy to learn to _act_ mature, but true maturity was only gained through experience. All too often quite painful experience, Sweden reflected ruefully. As if there hadn't been enough pain in his relatively short life already...

"Åland," he remarked, almost without thinking.

Åland turned towards him, expression quizzical.

"Yes?"

Sweden frowned, not entirely sure what he'd meant to say. Some sort of warning not to pursue the unattainable, perhaps. Some advice to simple step back and enjoy existence as it was, to not reach out for far away things, no matter how enticingly they glimmered.

But, looking at Åland's puzzled expression, so young and self certain and unaware of loss...somehow he realized he wouldn't be heard. It was not something that could be taught by anyone else. And perhaps that was for the best, in any case. Perhaps.

"Never mind," Sweden said, feeling like a coward.

Åland tilted his head, looking slightly curious, but not so much as to question further. Instead he returned to where Sweden was standing, stopping right next to him. So close their elbows were brushing together as Åland raised his reddened hands to rub them together and blow on them for warmth.

“The view’s nice here,” Åland said softly, “there’s something...I like looking over the sea, it’s so familiar, but lakes are...smaller. It’s, um, nice. Somehow.”

He glanced at Sweden and shrugged, smiling sheepishly. Sweden nodded benignly. He knew well enough how troublesome words could be.

“Yeah, it’s a nice,” he agreed.

“Probably really nice in the summer, right?” Åland noted, warming up to the subject.

“Mm,” Berwald agreed.

“The pier’s broken though.” A cool voice remarked.

Åland and Sweden both jumped a bit, not having noticed Iceland walking up behind them.

“The car’s getting cold,” he said, not quite in an accusing tone.

“Sorry...” Åland mumbled, frowning.

*

The further north they got, the more snow there was. When they made their last turn to a yet smaller road, he began to worry whether they’d even get through. Although the road had been cleared at some earlier time, more snow had fallen since. The trees at the side of the road were covered in snow as well, their branches drooping under it.

It was dark by then, the only light from the headlights of the car as they drew slowly. The light brought out strange shapes in the snow covered forest, of strange creatures crouching down at the edge of the light, revealed for a second and then lost in the darkness again. Longer branches brushed along the sides of the car softly, like hands scratching to get in.

“You could almost imagine trolls living in a place like this, huh?” Åland said jokingly, though he appeared to have drawn away from the door slightly, towards Iceland who was staring out without blinking.

“Naaw, Norway says they tend to avoid roads,” Iceland remarked drily, his face inscrutable. “That is, unless they specifically have some business with people...like abducting them or something,” he added thoughtfully.

Åland smiled uncertainly, but appeared just perceptively relieved when they came to higher ground and the trees grew sparser before they reached Sweden’s cabin.

It was a rather small one of rough hewn unpainted wood, made up of a one larger room with a large wood-fired masonry oven, and two smaller bedrooms further heated by smaller portable ovens.

The key was hung in a small cabinet by the door, with a faded picture of a key painted on it, and the cabin was always stocked with firewood and other necessities. Åland had asked, on his first visit there, if Sweden was worried that someone might wreck the house, but Sweden had just shaken his head and pointed towards the book placed on the table, the latest in a long line of similar books. It was filled with handwritten notes, written in a variety of lengths and languages, but all expressing thankfulness for having found a place to spend the night.

When the three of them arrived that night, tired after the long drive, the cabin was dark and cold, and it took a moment's work with a flashlight to get some warmth and light. By the time they got some soup warmed up with a small portable burner, Åland was yawning, and Iceland was leaning his arms on the table, and looked half asleep where he sat.

And soon enough they'd all stumbled to bed, with the three of them in one room, because it was easier to stay warm that way. Snug in their thick sleeping bags and under heavy quilts. And soon the only sound was the wind whistling outside, and the calm breathing of three sleepers.

*

Sweden was the first to wake up in the morning. Iceland was sleeping on his back, his pale face framed by the hood of the sleeping bag. Sitting for hours in a car had probably been tough in his condition, Sweden thought. Even asleep, he still looked tired, but at least he was breathing pretty easily. Of Åland he could only see a tuft of messy yellow hair from under his quilt, but he appeared to be sleeping peacefully too, so Sweden left them to sleep and sneaked out, trying to avoid the creakier floor planks.

He checked the woodshed first, finding it reasonably well stocked. They might need to cut up more wood before they left, but not yet. Then he inspected the chimney, making sure it was clear and would let the smoke through. There was still a faint smell of smoke when he lighted the large oven in the main room, but it cleared out soon enough.

When it was warm enough to start breakfast on the stove built into the side of the oven, Åland turned up, still yawning and with his hair looking like a bird's nest but otherwise clothed up. It was still too cold in the cabin to walk around otherwise.

"G'd morn'ng..." Åland mumbled sleepily, and went to peer out of the window.

"Oh, 's sunny," he remarked.

"Mm," Sweden agreed. "Colder too. Skare*"

"Could go skiing then, right?" Åland said, voice pleased.

It was indeed a good weather for skiing. They set out right after eating, to make use of the short daylight. *The temperature had dropped sharply after the previous day, and the top of the snow which had started to melt had frozen again, into a thick crust. They moved easily through the open landscape, it’s details smoothed out by the thick layer of snow.

The sun was reflecting brightly of the white surface for a few hours, before it sank under the horizon again. Even then, the scant amount of light was magnified of the snow, and they only returned to the cabin when world had turned a deep blue colour, right before complete darkness. That is, a short moment of darkness before the moon would rise.

Iceland, who’d declined the invitation to ski, was curled up on the bench next to the oven with a frayed old novel he’d found in the small bookshelf in the room they were sleeping in.

“Any good?” Åland asked casually as he tugged of his boots. Iceland shrugged, not looking up.

“Boring, and the last pages are missing,” Iceland replied coolly. He appeared to have descended into a dark mood again.

Åland frowned, looking momentarily nonplussed, and then gave Sweden a rueful look and shrugged, before speaking aloud again.

“I think I’ll go chop more firewood.” he declared to no one in particular, before pulling his boots back on and stepping out again, coat half open. Half out of the door, he turned to snatch up the spare electric lantern on the table.

“Do that,” Iceland said from behind his book, just shy from rude.

Sweden gave him a wordless look, and Iceland finally looked over the cover and met his eyes. He put the book down and sighed, with a barely there frown of his own. Just a slight crunching of the eyebrows, but for him, it was a telling look of annoyance.

“Don’t look at me like that, I have a headache,” Iceland mumbled, lowering his gaze to the book again. “And before you ask I already took a pill and it didn’t help.”

Sweden hesitated for a moment, and then decided to ask something he’d been meaning to for a while.

“Ya sure ya want to be here?” he asked tentatively, hoping Iceland wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

Iceland gave him a blank look, and then a crooked, self-deprecating smile.

“I know I’m being a bother like this, but…”

“Didn’t mean…” Sweden hastened to say, but Iceland interrupted him with a dark look.

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped sharply.

Sweden gave him a long, level look.

“Shut up. Iceland’ yer family, so it doesn’t matter if yer a bother.”

His voice came out a bit sterner then he’d intended, and Iceland’s eyes widened in a startled way.

“Um,” Sweden said, hoping he wouldn’t…well, he couldn’t imagine Iceland starting to _cry_ but…

Iceland laughed, a short bark of a sound. He raised his hand to his mouth, seeming almost surprised at it himself, and didn’t laugh more. Then he shook his head, eyes still crinkled slightly.

“If you say so…” Iceland mumbled.

Sweden nodded seriously.

“Try not t’ be too short with Åland though,” he added. “Might take ‘t pers’nally.”

“Mm…does that pretty easily, doesn’t he?” Iceland replied, eyebrows raised.

Sweden shook his head at his lightly mocking tone.

“We’ve all been young,” he said mildly.

Iceland huffed.

“Had to learn the world doesn’t revolve ‘roud us eventually though, eh? So you shouldn’t coddle him too much…”

“Coddle?” Sweden asked blankly.

“Yeah. So what if Finland was a bit busy when he was growing up? There are worse things than being left alone, it doesn’t make him _special_. Frankly--”

Iceland’s speech was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Neither of them had heard the footsteps of Åland, returning from the woodshed. He stood at the doorway now, face pale and mouth pressed into a tight line.

Before either Iceland or Sweden had time to say anything, Åland shook his head sharply and turned on his heel. The door shut behind him with a soft thump.

Sweden looked at Iceland, who groaned and hit his forehead with his palm.

“Dammit,” he mumbled into it.

“Mm,” Sweden agreed drily.

There was a moment of awkward silence, before Iceland spoke again:

“Think he went back to chop more wood?”

Sweden listened, but there was no sound from outside.

“No,” he said.

Iceland sighed.

“Think it was a lot further than that?” he asked.

Sweden considered what he knew about Åland’s character.

“…probably.”

“Hmph.”

Then Iceland went back to reading his book, seeming intent on ignoring the suddenly awkward silence. Sweden picked up a small piece of firewood and started chipping at it with a knife, occasionally stopping to listen for returning footstep. By the time he had a new spatula with some simple decoration on the handle, and Åland still hadn’t returned, Sweden began to worry for him.

Eventually he got up and put on his outside clothes.

“Going t’ look for ‘m,” he informed Iceland, who merely nodded, still apparently engrossed in his book.

*

Without the sun, the air had gone even colder outside, pinching at Sweden’s nose and cheeks the moment he stepped out of the door. The hard, crusted snow didn’t show footprints very well, but a light dusting of powdery snow had rained on it at some point, so he could just barely make out which direction Åland had gone in. As he’d guessed, the footprints led away from the cabin, into the expanse of snowy hills.

Sweden sighed and followed them.

Above him, moon had risen into the inky, star encrusted sky, beaming down and bathing the scenery in eerie silver light. It was almost as light as in the day, but with the colours sapped away. Sweden stopped for a moment to look at the stars, recollecting a time when he could have seen them almost everywhere. Now it was only in places like this, far away from the cities and their bright lights.

Still following Åland’s faint footprints, he climbed over the crest of a hill, and saw a lake below him. In contrast to the white, glittering hills, the ice of the lake was like black glass. He noticed a distant figure standing in the middle of it, and hurried his footsteps towards him.

The ice looked worryingly thin even from a distance, and the way it creaked ominously under Sweden as he stepped on it didn’t reassure him either. Maybe it was fed into by a river, so the water moved constantly, or maybe the weather had been warmer not too long ago. Whatever the reason, this ice wasn’t safe.

Åland must have been very upset not to have noticed that himself, Sweden thought as he approached him. His worry made his tone short when he got close enough to speak.

“Åland, come back. ‘s not safe.”

Åland started and whirled around at hearing his voice. His face was left in the shadow, so it was hard to read his expression.

“I…I do know to stay away from where I’m not wanted,” he said quietly.

“Iceland’s just feeling poorly, ‘s not…”

“Any of my business? Because I’m not _anything special_ , right? Think I haven’t figured that out by now? Just a measly group of islands in the middle of a measly little sea that’s not even strategically important anymore!”

After the bitter outburst, Åland went quiet again, his shoulder hunching like he was trying to make himself smaller.

“I did get it a long time ago...that I’m a goddamn _mistake_ as far as you’re concerned...” his voice had gone small too. It hurt to listen to it, and Sweden took an instinctive step closer.

“I’ve never thought that,” he told him.

Åland just looked at him, his shadowed face tired and blank.

“He does though, doesn’t he? Finland, I mean.”

Sweden hesitated. The fact was, he was rather sure Åland was right. Or had been at least, for a long time. These days...it was difficult to say. Finland himself had grown up a lot since he and Sweden had separated in 1809, and since he’d struck out on his own entirely. He’d learned a lot, but most of it far too late for it to have been of any use for Åland.

And while Sweden was rather sure Finland was aware of the mistakes he’d done with him, and was, to a certain extent trying to make up for them...well, it wasn’t quite enough to make things right between them. Finland still let Åland rile him up too easily, and Åland himself was too young and bitter to accept Finland’s awkward gestures of friendship. At least not openly enough for Finland to notice, most of the time.

Sweden shrugged.

“It’s Finland. Have t’ take him as is or not ‘t all,” he said.

Åland gave him a curious head tilt, seeming amused despite himself.

“Why do you bother?” he asked half jokingly.

Sweden made a show of considering.

“Family an’ neighbours, can’t choose them,” he said at last, with another shrug.

Åland huffed, his gaze on the ground again.

“What if...what if you could?” he asked quietly.

“Wouldn’t change a thing,” Sweden told him, fondly, and got a little smile in return.

Åland sighed deeply. I seemed as if something was let out with that breath, as his shoulder untensed, slumping minutely. He shivered.

“Let’s go back, I’m freezing. And you’re right, this ice isn’t--”

And of course, it was just as he said it that there was an unpleasant cracking sound. Sweden got a brief impression of Åland’s terrified face, and, oddly enough of someone shouting his name, though Åland’s lips weren’t moving, and the ice under his feet sagged and tilted suddenly, dropping him into black, freezing water.

The shock of the cold was almost paralyzing at first, and after that there was a moment where he realized he’d ended up _under_ the ice, scrabbling at it for a horrible second before he caught the edge of the hole in the ice.

Then there was a hand holding onto his numb fingers, and it caught onto his wrist too, hauling him up onto the ice. He remembered long learned lessons, and rolled away from the water, until the ice felt stable enough to stop and take stock of the situation.

Sweden blinked up at the starry sky, and the two figures leaning over him.

“Iceland, where’d ya come from?” he asked, perplexed.

“Was following you two...the hell were you _thinking_ , anyway. Anyone could see that ice was thin,” Iceland told him. Despite the irritated tone he actually looked a bit worried.

Åland on the other hand looked downright miserable.

“I’m sorry, it was my fault, I--”

“Let’s just get him to the cabin first,” Iceland said, not unkindly. “We can decide whose fault it was then, right?”

So that’s what they did. It wasn’t a very long journey, or hadn’t seemed so when Sweden had been walking earlier. Now, when his hands and feet were alternatively numb and like they were pricked by needles, and Iceland and Åland had to keep him up on both sides, it seemed a lot longer.

But they did get there eventually. And Sweden even started feeling less like a human icicle eventually, after Iceland had instructed Åland to get the largest tub from the sauna on the other side of the yard, and the two of them had heated up water in the biggest kettle they could found, and then they’d made Sweden sit in the hot water until the pins and needles went away and he started to feel just warm.

Probably would have taken a lot longer if he was a regular human, he supposed. As it was, he hadn’t been in the lake for that long.

Still, he didn’t object to Åland and Iceland insisting he sit on the warm bench beside the oven, with the two of them propping him up on both sides, and with his feet in a smaller tub of hot water.

“You’d better not get sick,” Iceland told him sternly. “The others would never let me hear the end of ‘t.”

That apparently reminded Åland of his guilt, forgotten while they were busy getting Sweden warm.

“I’m so sorry. That was…I’m no better then Finland!” he said, sounding dismayed.

“If you were Finland that hole would have been there ‘cause you’d just _made_ it,” Iceland parried in a deadpan tone.

“Yeah, guess so…” Åland mumbled, sounding amused despite himself.

“Besides, you wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t been being a bastard,” Iceland went on, “So…I’m sorry, too.”

Åland shrugged, and even managed to smile a little.

“It’s fine. Just, next time if ya have something t’ say, say it to my face, ok?”

Iceland nodded graciously in agreement.

Sweden just listened. He was feeling rather drowsy, and didn’t really have anything to add to the conversation. It was good the two of them had made up…and Iceland even seemed to be in a better mood after all the excitement. At least for the moment. He had a feeling it might not last, but it was something at least.

While he sat there, half asleep, an old, cliché phrase he’d heard or read somewhere floated up to the forefront of his mind. Somehow it seemed appropriate for the moment, though.

“Know what?” he said, and the two others turned to him questioningly.

“I think…no man’s an island.”

He got twin perplexed stares for that, before Iceland started to snigger into his shoulder, and Åland rolled his eyes in a long suffering way.

“Uhuh. Just leave the jokes for Denmark, ok.”

Sweden agreed with a sleepy hum, but that didn’t make the sentiment any less true.


End file.
